August 24, 2009

roasted chicken

You've probably all been expecting it, but I've been swept up in this whole Julia Child epidemic. Don't tell me you didn't see it coming.

Despite the fact that I had never read either of the books that Julie & Julia is based on, I walked out of the movie raving. A day later I bought Julia Child's cookbook. A week later, still trying to contain my excitement, I went shopping for the ingredients for her Boeuf Bourguignon. The next day, they went into the freezer (however much I argued otherwise, my mom insisted that it was "not 90 degree weather food").

A few days ago, I went shopping in Bed Bath and Beyond, which is quite a dangerous thing to do when armed with a 20% off coupon and an inspiration level that could kill. I walked out with a new loaf pan, measuring cups, a serrated knife, a bamboo mat, and who knows what else. I think some sort of wooden paddle was also involved.

More to the point, we ate, or scarfed down, Julia Child's roasted chicken yesterday, which was delicious. I decided to cook on a whim and was quite disappointed at, to be frank, the lack of an excessive quantity of butter. Was there a typo in my book? Had I misread two tablespoons for two sticks? After this minor setback, the most trouble I had was preventing the chicken from bouncing around in the oven while trying to keep it balanced on its side with only a small fork in hand (a threat to both the bird's appearance, and my patience). It may not be the prettiest, but this was the best bird we've ever eaten. Next time, though, I'll be doing some damage to my butter supply.